


Number 239

by Ava_now



Series: Barollins AU [8]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mass shooting, Psychological Trauma, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24706381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ava_now/pseuds/Ava_now
Summary: Rafael experiences a deadly school shooting at his new job, and Amanda attempts to comfort him in the aftermath.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Amanda Rollins
Series: Barollins AU [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760629
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Number 239

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING--SCHOOL SHOOTING
> 
> This is not graphic but does revolve around the trauma of a school shooting.
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the number of school shootings since Columbine. I had trouble finding an accurate number regarding how many school shootings there have been in the US since Columbine. All I could find was information stating that as of 2019, there had been "over 240". I chose to go with 239, but it was a bit disturbing to have to look so hard and not find an accurate number.
> 
> Rafael experiences a good deal of dissociation due to the trauma of this incident in this fic, which can appear for a lot of reasons. If you suffer from this, therapy does help. Unlike Amanda, Rafael WILL seek therapy to assist him in handling the trauma he's suffered.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please consider leaving a comment or kudo--I appreciate them!

He had been under the water now for awhile. He knew because it was turning cold.

He reached over and turned the shower off, then grabbed a towel. He rubbed quickly, firmly, trying to focus on something other than the memory of what he’d seen.  _ You worked in the DA’s office for 21 years!, _ he scolded himself internally.  _ This shouldn’t shake you so much. You’re stronger than this, Rafael. _ He shook his head, but he couldn’t tell which droplets were water and which were tears.

He pulled on a pair of sweats just as his phone rang again. He knew it must have hit the news cycle by now, the way his phone was ringing. Friends and family, even colleagues he hadn’t spoken to in ages, were all calling to get info under the guise of seeing if he was okay. Of course he was, or they wouldn’t be calling, would they?

Olivia had left the first message, checking on him a couple hours ago. There had been texts from Carisi and his mom, even Fin. There had been a call from Amanda shortly after Liv’s. That was the only one he would be returning, but he just wasn’t ready yet.

He climbed into his bed and turned on the television to Food Network, something Carisi had gotten him hooked on during their short affair. It was absolutely mind numbing, just what he needed, and he took a long drink from the scotch he’d set on the nightstand. All he wanted was to shut out the visuals. He hadn’t seen that many, but it was more than enough--he taught two of them this semester and knew a third, plus a colleague--and if he could obliterate his memory, it would be a blessing.

***

He woke up to his phone buzzing furiously and drool spread from his mouth across the pillow to his wrist. Forgetting the afternoon had ever happened for a minute, he answered his cell. “Hello?” His voice sounded cottony, strange even to himself, and his mouth was dry.

“Rafael! Thank God! Baby, where are you?” It was Amanda. Hearing her frantic tone brought everything back immediately, in blazing intensity. The emergency texts. The sound of multiple shots down the hall as he hid under his desk, shaking. The smell of smoke and the sound of NYPD coming in and taking over. And the sight of dead bodies littering the hall. The bodies of students and colleagues, some he had known well--

“Rafael? Baby, it’s me, Amanda. Where are you? I’m scared.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, feeling the heavy weight in his chest pulling him down. “I’m at home. I just...I fell asleep...I’m sorry, I meant to call you.”

“I’m right outside,” she told him. “You’ve got your deadbolt on so I can’t get in. Can you unlock it? Please?”

“Yeah.” He felt out of it, removed, but stood up and shuffled his way out of the bedroom, through the kitchen and the front room to the door. He unlocked every lock, then opened the door, phone still to his ear.

She was looking at him like she expected him to lose it any second, and he felt like he just might. “Rafa.” She said his name quietly, calmly. “Are you okay?” she asked, slowly moving into the apartment and closing the door. “Why don’t you sit down?” She guided him to the couch by an elbow, and he let her. He sat down on the couch, and she knelt in front of him, resting her hands on his knees. Everything felt like a dream, as though he weren’t really here, and he almost pinched himself to be sure he wasn’t still asleep. “You’re going to be okay, Rafael,” she told him calmly, as though he were a child and she was his mother. He looked down at her, trying to register everything she was saying, but it seemed to take effort. “I’m going to get you some water and something to eat. If you feel like talking, talk. If you feel like crying, cry. If you feel like screaming, you can do that too. It’s all going to be okay.”

He heard her rustling in the kitchen for a few minutes before returning with a couple of water bottles, some crackers, and some cheese. “Drink,” she directed, handing him a bottle, and he did. She took a seat next to him and offered him a cracker. He took it and ate it slowly, then followed it with a piece of cheese. He felt like he wasn’t in his own body, as though he were watching them separately and everything was slow and hazy.

“How are you feeling?” Amanda rested a hand on his thigh as she sat next to him, and he slowly turned toward her.

“Odd,” he told her. “Like it’s surreal. It really happened, didn’t it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

He nodded back at her, then took another cracker.

They sat like that for awhile, in relative silence, as he ate and drank slowly. After several minutes, he said, “I think I saw five, in the hallway near my office. I had two in my classes this semester, plus Chase, who was in my class last semester. Carla was dead in the hallway, too. Her office is next to mine. I saw them when the cops walked me out. I had to step over Emily.” He shuddered involuntarily. “He got her in the head. How many did he kill?”

“Nine,” she told him. “From what I understand, the others were in a classroom. They may have been studying--”

“The lounge,” he said suddenly. “There’s a small lounge down the hall that they use to study in--” A low wail suddenly cut through his words, and at first he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. But then his chest was vibrating and his stomach clenched, and Amanda’s arms were wrapping around him as a terrible, high pitched sound came from inside of him. He collapsed against her, sobbing hysterically, feeling completely out of control as she rocked him back and forth.

“You’re okay, baby,” she murmured over and over as he wept. “You’re okay. You’re alive, you survived. You’re okay.” He pressed his face into her neck and closed his eyes, as if that would somehow erase the memory of today. He could taste his salty tears as they ran over his lips and onto her shirt. She was soft and warm against him and he suddenly wished he could stay like this forever, and never have to face the world again.

After some time, his sobs began to quiet. Amanda continued to rub his back, soothing him. “I don’t want to move,” he finally said. 

“Why don’t we get you in that comfy bed of yours, and we can put on some TV you like? I’ll stay as long as you want me to, okay?”

Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, then asked, “What about the girls? Don’t you need---”

“They’re taken care of, baby.” She stroked his hair away from his forehead. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here for you right now, okay?”

He didn’t have the energy to ask anything else. Nodding, he stood up and followed her into the bedroom.

***

He woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed and gasping for air. His heart was racing and he looked around quickly until he was convinced he was awake and at home, safe.

He had been dreaming. 

_ He was under his desk, panting. “Baby killer, I’m coming for you!” he heard the shooter call loudly in between shots. “You think you can escape me by leaving the DA’s office?” Another shot. “I’ll hunt you down wherever you go...nine lives today, baby killer!” _

Amanda rushed into the bedroom, carrying a mug of something. “Hey, Rafael, it’s okay,” she soothed, rounding the bed to sit on the edge next to him. He was still breathing heavily and covered in sweat. She set the mug on the nightstand. “Here, let’s take off your shirt.” He let her ease it up and off of his body, but immediately began to shiver. She moved closer to him and cupped a hand to the back of his head. “Oh honey,” she said, as if he were pitiful, and only then did he realize he was crying again.

“Sorry,” he finally spoke. “I was dreaming...the killer was coming after me.” He shook his head, and Amanda passed him the mug. He took a long sip. It was hot, strong coffee with liquor, and it was very good. He let it settle in his stomach and took another drink. She knew him well, he thought, and for the first time today really looked at her.

She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers playing with the hair on the back of his head. She had on a tee shirt and jeans, and her hair was down. Her face was drawn, concerned, and he saw worry in her eyes. She was truly worried about him, and that realization warmed him almost as much as the coffee did. He wasn’t used to having someone to worry excessively over him. His mami did some, when he let her into what was going on in his life, but that was limited. This, though...he suddenly realized his mother was probably going out of her mind. He still hadn’t spoken to her.

He squeezed Amanda’s empty hand. “Don’t worry, hermosa. I’m okay,” he said, his voice sounding far off and strange to his own ears. “I need to call my mother, though...I’ve put it off too long as it is--”

She shook her head. “I already spoke to her,” she said, squeezing his hand back. “She had called me a couple of times, so I called her back and explained you were having some reactions to the trauma today and needed to rest. She wanted to come over but I told her I was here already and would have you call her as soon as you were up to it.” She pulled her hand from his hair and rested it on his knee. “I’ve also told your front desk guy that you don’t want any visitors right now. A few reporters actually came up here wanting to speak with you. I sent them away.”

“Thank you,” he said, closing his eyes and feeling relief rush through him. He hadn’t even considered that reporters would want to talk to him. Those were conversations he was not ready to have. 

“I think your mom is okay waiting until tomorrow, if you want.” She squeezed his knee gently. “You’ll probably feel a little less spacey tomorrow, a little more connected. Right now, you’re a little dissociated. That’s normal for what you’ve been through, sweetie. It’s a way your brain protects itself.” At his confused expression, she smiled. “I only know because I’ve been through it myself. A couple times.”

He took another sip of the coffee. “What helps?” he asked. “Everything still seems so strange. Like I’m in a dream.” He shook his head, as though that would help, then asked, “What time is it?”

“It’s almost 2 a.m. And time will help. Talking. Giving yourself some time to process what happened. Talking to a therapist. Letting yourself grieve. Letting me in.” She stroked his knee again. “I know that’s something neither of us are good at, but I want you to know I’m here for you, Rafa. I love you and want to take care of you.”

He gave a soft, hollow laugh. “Nobody has ever wanted to take care of me,” he said, “at least not since my abuelita.”

Amanda climbed further into the bed, curling up against him and resting a hand on his bare chest. “I do,” she told him. “I’m here because I want to be. I love you and you need somebody right now. You shouldn’t be alone. Let me take care of you, baby. Whatever you need.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what I need. Something to scrub the images out of my brain.” He pressed his palms onto his eyes. “For no reason, Amanda. I’m sitting at my desk and my phone goes off, and it’s a text saying there’s an active shooter and to shelter in place. Before I could stand up I heard the first shot. I scrambled under my desk and I stayed there the whole time.” He removed his hands from his eyes and shook his head again. She was lying next to him, resting her head on her hand, elbow on the pillow, and a hand stroking his chest hair. “I could smell the smoke almost immediately. From the first shot. The next two shots came quickly, and I swear he opened the door to my office then. It creaked. Do you know how quiet it can be when somebody is shooting like that? There wasn’t a single sound, ‘Manda. My door creaked when he moved it and I stopped breathing. Then I heard Carla say something to him. I think she was coming out of her office.” He suddenly gripped the hand on his chest. “I think that’s what distracted him from my office--Carla came out--Jesus, Amanda, what if that saved me? What if that’s the reason I’m alive? You've been to my office. He was what, six feet from me as I was cowering under the desk?” His body began to shake again, and he felt his eyes filling with tears. “I heard her, ‘Manda...she said, ‘Please.’ She was asking for her life. She has--had--kids and a husband, a family. And I just hid under my desk like a motherfucking coward. I just hid.” He was crying hard again, body shaking, and Amanda reached to wrap her arms around him, but he pushed her back. “No, ‘Manda, I don’t deserve it...I don’t deserve it...those kids died, Carla died, while I hid…”

She let him cry for several minutes again until the intensity seemed to lessen. Then she cupped his face again. “Rafael,” she said firmly, “listen to me. As a cop. You did all that you could do. You did exactly what you were supposed to do--you were directed to shelter in place. You had no weapon, no way to fight this guy off. If you had done absolutely ANYTHING other than what you did, there would be a tenth body today--yours. Your mami would be identifying you at the morgue.”

He shook again, rubbing his face with his hands, and she reached over and grabbed a box of tissues, taking a few and wiping his face for him. She held one to his nose. “Here, blow.” He followed her directions, but then made a face. “What?” she asked.

“You cleaned up my snot,” he answered, looking a little disgusted.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m a mom. Your snot is nothing.” She tossed the tissue in the trash. “But I will wash my hands. Be back in a minute.”

When she climbed back in bed, he was much more settled, resting on his back and looking at the ceiling. He sniffled, and she kissed his temple. “You don’t think I should have done anything different? Why do I feel like it’s my fault, like I should have done something?”

She stroked his hair again. “I think you did exactly what you were supposed to do, but I know you’re familiar with survivor’s guilt. You’re going to feel that way for awhile, babe. Therapy is supposed to help.” He turned and looked at her, and she smiled. “I’m not good at going to therapy, so I can’t vouch from personal experience,” she said, then kissed his forehead. “Do you feel any better right now?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just right now. I’m pretty sure I’ll break down again in about five minutes.”

She kissed his temple again. “I know it feels like that. Do you need anything? Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Just you. Just want you here. I love you.”

She curled up tightly to him and kissed his neck. “I’m right here, guapo,” she told him, and rested a hand on his belly again. She stroked the skin there gently, occasionally tugging the soft hair. Her hand moved slowly, relaxedly, over his belly and up his sternum, then over his chest. Her fingers tangled with the hair on his chest, eventually playing with his nipples one at a time. She heard him sigh, and she pressed a kiss to the closest one. “Like that?” she asked. “Does that feel good?”

Now he kissed her forehead. “Yes. It does. I love you, Amanda.”

She rolled over so that she was partially on top of his chest, looking down at him, and ran one hand slowly back down his chest, his belly, his abdomen, to rest on his half-erect penis. “I love you too, Rafael. Do you want to make love, or just snuggle like this?”

He closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them and said, “I want to be inside you.”

She nodded, then kissed him on the mouth. “We can make that happen.”

***

“--and then the police came into the hallway, and it was over. A few minutes later one of them came into my office and got me out.”

The detective turned the recorder off. “Thank you, Mr. Barba,” she said. “We know this has been difficult for you, and we will be in touch in a few days to give you some names and numbers of people you can talk to, if you so desire. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

He nodded, then stood from the couch. “Thank you. I appreciate all that you’ve done.” He walked her to the door to see her out. He could hear Amanda in the kitchen, finishing breakfast dishes.

“Have a good day, Mr. Barba.” The detective opened the door to leave. Turning to him again, she said, “One more thing...it’s completely up to you if you talk to the press. But you also have every right to tell those vultures to leave you the hell alone. They can be a little…”

He smirked, thinking of all of his press interactions as a DA. “Obnoxious? Unrelenting? Desperate?”

She smiled. “Yeah.” Nodding at him, she said, “Take care.”

“You too.” He watched her head down the hallway, then shut the door.

“Your mom called while you were with the detective.” Amanda handed him a new mug of coffee, this time with no liquor, and he smiled gratefully at her before taking a sip.

“Thank you.” He set the mug on the coffee table. “I’ll call her in a little bit. I know she’s worried.”

“Yeah,” Amanda agreed. “She loves you and wants to make sure you’re okay.”

He shook his head slightly. “Am I okay, Amanda?” He exhaled heavily. “I don’t feel okay. I’m not a sobbing mess today, but the world feels off balance. It doesn’t feel okay. It doesn’t feel like it will ever be okay again.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know. When I got the call yesterday, I felt like somebody had sucked all the air out of my body. I just knew you were dead. I’m thirty-seven years old and have finally found a man that I trust, that I love, that loves me. I’ve finally found my own happily ever after, and he’s been killed. For a minute, I couldn’t even breathe. And then Liv told me you were alive, you were okay, and all I could think was that I needed to get to you as fast as I could. I needed to see for myself that you were still here, alive.” She took his hand in hers. “And then I needed to take care of you, to comfort you. I couldn’t stand the thought of you dealing with this alone.”

He pulled back and tilted her head up toward him, so he could see her beautiful blue eyes, the soft dusting of freckles, the light flush of pink on her cheeks. “Because of you, I don’t have to,” he said quietly. “That’s something nobody’s done for me in a long, long time, and it’s one of the many reasons I love you, Amanda.” His voice was shaky but his eyes met hers. “Thank you.”

“I love you too,” she told him, a bit shaky herself, “and you’re welcome.”


End file.
